So, here is another Father’s Day. A day to call up old dad and say, hey, I am thinking about you! I remember when I was a little one and you and I did that stuff together! Thanks Dad! You rock!
The problem is that my dad is dead. Also, he did not believe in an after life, wasn’t much of a visiter in life anyway, and so there has been no sign of him since he passed through. The consequence is that these last few Father’s Days have been a little bit more empty than they are for some, I am sure.
I wasn’t close to my dad, but still, he was my dad. To his credit, he did keep the home fires burning. He did make sure that earned enough that we had enough to be well fed, dressed and so on. I always had a bike, a treat now and again at the store and I even have happy memories, so all in all, he did good for a young father.
My dad, Richard Moreland, was a dairy farmer and a true stoic. He rarely used more words than were absolutely necessary. But I have a nice story to share about my dad. It is the thing that I look back on with astonishment every time that I think about him. He wanted to come along to an awards ceremony that was being held at Queen’s University, where I had attended school. I was being given an award, called the Barbara Paul Prize which I was totally honored and thrilled about, and had asked Daddy if he wanted to come. Strangely, he said he would be there. When he arrived to get me he was really dressed nice and looked about as handsome as I had ever seen him look. So I got the award and after the ceremony we went to a wine and cheese at the Ban Righ Centre, on what is now Alfred Bader Lane. We walked in a little late because Daddy and I had been chatting with lovely Ms. Donna and her family, and when we went into the room, my dad took a look around the room scanning very carefully and then VERY loudly he said “you eat up that cheese and support your local dairy farmers”!
Honestly, this was so out of character. First to be loud, second to say something public in front of all those people and third to be so political. I have thought about this a lot. I know I have already said that it was astonishing for me, but the thing that I have not said, is that on that day, I realized that Daddy was proud of me. That my success gave him a voice in a life where his voice had primarily been never heard both literally and figuratively. So, while the Barbara Paul Prize was a wonderful gift to me, the memory that springs out of that day is what truly stays on my mind. So on this Father’s day I recognize that while daddy was not nearly so well known as many people are, I am glad that he had his chance while alive to say something important. But, honestly, it was the things that were not said, that were most meaningful about that day. It was the day that my father will be remembered for most by me, because it was the day where he delivered his first and his last lecture.
It was the day that I gave my father a voice and it spoke as clearly to me as any voice ever had or has since. It was the voice of a man who loved his children and who was proud of them. I love you for that Daddy. Happy Father’s Day.
